Convergence
by Wilusa
Summary: Sometimes a coincidence is just a coincidence. Sometimes it's not. Written Apr. 2004.


  
DISCLAIMER: Carnivale and its canon characters are the property of HBO and the show's producers; no copyright infringement is intended.  
  
**_Note:_** Like any speculative Carnivale fiction written now, this story may be rendered AU by canon established in a future season.  
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Dumb, dumb idea_, Tommy Dolan thought sourly as he slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. _I won't be welcome here. What possessed me, to leave sunny California for even a few days?_  
  
There was no turning back; the train had left. So he hefted his suitcase and trudged away from the tracks. For a minute he feared he wouldn't remember the way to his sister's place. But then he saw landmarks he'd committed to memory, and set out as confidently as he would have a decade before.  
  
_The area sure has changed, though. Lord, maybe these folks don't celebrate Thanksgiving anymore! Can't see why they would._  
  
Tommy felt guilty about dropping in on Fran, unannounced, on the holiday. But she and Gus didn't have a phone, and none of them were good at writing letters, and his suitcase _was_ stuffed with gifts for the whole family, even Fran's crabby mother-in-law.  
  
_It was Justin's being so close to Iris that made me realize I should see more of my own sister._  
  
In fact, the closeness of Justin and Iris gave him the willies, and he needed to get away from them. He tried not to think about that.  
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He'd been hiking for an hour when he spotted the drab, weathered farmhouse. He left the road and headed for it. A youngster emerged from behind a rusty piece of farm equipment midway between road and house; Tommy recognized him from photos as his now 8-year-old nephew.  
  
He waved. The boy waved back and yelled, "I'll tell Ma you're comin'!" Then he made a beeline for the house.  
  
_Great. Has he seen enough photos to recognize **me**, or will he tell her a strange man's headed their way, with luggage?_  
  
He got his answer when he reached the door. Fran was waiting for him, wiping her hands on her apron, and she'd clearly been told who he was. She was smiling, but he thought she looked uneasy. "Tommy! What a wonderful surprise!"  
  
He set his bags down and gave her a hug. "I hope it's okay, Fran. I just realized how I've missed you. But when I think about it, it's rude to barge in on Thanksgiving Day." To his relief, he was picking up aromas that proved she wascooking a holiday dinner of some sort. "People around here don't seem to have much to be thankful for."  
  
"Oh,_ we_ do! And your coming to join us isn't rude--our home is yours, always." She pulled him into the modest living room; the boy had vanished.  
  
Tommy grinned and said, "My namesake's shooting up like a weed. If he's still Little Tommy, he won't be for long."  
  
_To Mom, we were Big Tommy and Little Tommy. If she'd lived till I was 70, I still couldn't have been Tom, because that was Dad's name. _   
  
"He's a good boy," Fran said affectionately. "And we've had a good year. Some crops failed, but that's trivial. It's family that's important." Not meeting his eyes, she said abruptly, "I wrote you a letter."  
  
"Wh-what? A letter, this year? I didn't get it."  
  
Fran looked at him now. "I said I wrote it. I didn't mail it."  
  
Confused, he asked, "Why not?"  
  
"I was out of stamps. So I waited till we went into Tipton for supplies. I bought stamps in the general store--"  
  
She broke off, but Tommy was already asking a question. "Wait a minute. Why Tipton? Isn't Milfay closer?"  
  
"Yes. But they look at us funny in Milfay these days."  
  
While he was puzzling over that, Fran continued in a rush. "No one should be treated like a freak! Gus and I went in the store that day. Anna stayed outside with the kids." Anna was the crabby mother-in-law. "Like a fool, she started blabbing...and things happened. Bad things, dangerous things. Crowds mobbed that carnie boy, treated _him_ like a freak, could have killed him!  
  
"After that I didn't dare send my letter to you. Knowing what you do for a living..."  
  
Tommy said slowly, "I use radio to give the people information. Information they need. Information to which they have a right."  
  
"Your listeners don't have the right to know everything about everyone!" Tears were brimming in Fran's eyes now.  
  
Tommy realized he was onto something. "What are we talking about?" he persisted. "What's the story with this carnie boy?"  
  
"The carnie boy?" another voice cut in.  
  
Tommy spun around--and almost collapsed as his 7-year-old niece, crippled by polio since infancy, _walked_ into the room.  
  
Maddy Crane looked up at her uncle and said, "The carnie boy healed me."  
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(The End)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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